The mist and rain of the foothills solves all ills
Foothills that were once might mountains
Grow older and wiser; yet lie still and wait

© 2017 Case Coniglio
All rights reserved

Long has my spirit restlessly waited
For this journey to begin
Quickly I have found this journeys end
Although, I confidently know now
The spark deep within
Burns and glows brightly
For many nights and days to come
Until, restlessness knocks again

© 2017 Case Coniglio
All rights reserved

Final thoughts after completing the Long Trail in Massachusetts.
Ma Cherie May 29

    a moment
to sit
  in quiet

I close my eyes
to hear
what is in the silence.

beautiful summer rain
the trees
an the old metal roof
sings along
with unusual songbirds
this year
creaky aluminum
bends in temperature changes
a door sways
back an forth
gentle rhythms
all together
a benevolent band
wet parachuting droplets
bursting on impact,
a soft howling wind
their tune.

my ears hummmm..

with vibrations,

I only hear
when I listen
so intently to life.

which is something
I need to do more often
to be honest
amongst the utter
chaos an confusion
I am currently in.

contentedness for me
is a destination I seek.

it is then-
it is then when I find my ZEN,
where I can honestly be
I honestly am
for even
the pain
that I have felt.

that I've endured.

that I have persevered over.

you might wonder?

I think it is simple-
cumulus clouds provide rain,
rain provides water,
water is life.

I am water,
an therefore
I wish to be.

Mindfulness and meditation so this is something different for me  this type of poetry. it's so lovely here in Vermont. If anyone has a topic about Vermont they want me to write about I will try. Much thanks poets

The city is without camouflage.
No men in forest-colored vests
or work boots that track mud
across my heart, little white carpet.

Hunting season begins tonight.
Everyone blends into the mountains,
smelling of autumn leaves and fresh air -
embodied natural sugar.

So pale, like the clouds in my coffee.
We brave the cold to enjoy the thaw,
melting all through August
when the river’s ripe for skinny dipping.

Oh, to fall asleep to the rush, flow, rush
of water someplace
and the tree frogs’ chant.
And both sides of the pillow are always cold.

We seek all things sweet, chill, crisp:
moonshine cherries
passed among friends
like the flu.  

and we’ll laugh too
even if we don’t get the joke.
It just feels good.

And! I almost forgot homemade tire swings;
our barefeet on ripped trampolines;
those screen doors our mothers warned us not to slam
and citronella candles on front porch coffee tables;

eating rhubarb pie with plastic forks;
real sticky syrup smiles;
wiping our hands on our jeans;
unafraid to get a little Earth on us.

This is
the soil we came from,
the dirt beneath our fingernails,
the mud across my heart, little white carpet.

Ma Cherie Apr 1

I can tell you that I am tall,
an I am also not petite,
an some they might say sturdy,
like a tree who has two feet,

An I used to be so thin,
as a stick, I heard em say,
though I won't say I'm too big,
I'm no longer quite that way,

Well I have a little belly,
as some older women do,
I earned it,
what I think,
with my cooking yeah it's true,

So someone might say "chubby"
an I guess OK with that,
I keep an eye on the scale each day,
so I won't end up too fat,
as I sample of my cooking,
to add in this an that,

Sometimes I might wear some makeup
though most days I do not,
especially in the summertime,
when the sun is blazing hot,

I wear my jeans till dirty,
yup more than just few hours,
some say I am a witch,
who's got some kinda powers,
I like the rain a lot you know,
and soaking in warm showers,

I'm not sure that I'm sexy,
my face has many wrinkles,
I like vanilla bean ice cream,
with some yummy chocolate sprinkles,
and some say that I still glow at night,
my eyes they sorta twinkles, ; )

I sip my wine at night to ease,
I work and write by day,
my thoughts come in a rushing breeze,
way more than I can say,

I see the world much differently
than others who are around,
I hear the leaves as they fall dreaming,
an as they hit the sacred ground,
poetry is everyone,
in every lovely sight -an sound

I love my little Tanley cat,
he sits atop my shoulder,
first thing in the morning too,
an each day I'm gettin' older,
I don't take the shit life gives,
cuz I'm a gettin' a lil' bolder,
winters in Vermont are now
much warmer 'stead of colder,

I have an older Subaru,
with lucky all wheel drive,
that thing is like a tank ya know,
it's helped me stay alive,
if you are in the wilderness,
I could help ya to survive,

I cut an split our wood a lot,
but I say the "F" word too,
an I can cook most ANYTHING,
especially a stew!!

Emmmm, emmm yummy!

an I don't have a lot of friends,
but the few I have are true,

If you  really wanna know-
just what I'm really like,
well come up to Vermont -c'mon!
and we'll take a lovely hike,
or take snowmobile out in wintertime,
or catch a real big ugly pike,
or introduce you too my 6'8"
nephew -
who's name is little Mike,

I am so honest- genuine,
I love all people- same,
love is in my heart you see,
to me- it's not a game,
and life is what you make it,
so it's not about the blame,
an I no longer carry anger near,
or not any hidden shame,

I am a very gentle soul,
unless you cross me bad,
and even then I'd likely be,
only maybe sad,
I use my measures often too-
especially the "tad" : )

I think you'd want me in your corner-
I defend mine 'til the death,
an I will speak my certain truth-
until my last an dying breath,

Most days I feel misunderstood,
a curse I bear - alone,
I keep here pretty quite too,
an I like to be at home,

I guess I'm left of center,
NO didn't vote for stupid Trump,
I called him more than maybe twice,
an orange looking angry chump,

I have so many scars,
on my hands from workin hard,
I think I made clean money,
an now I am the bard,

Of a place I love the very most,
where I am my own queen,
and living every day here,
is nothing but a dream,
as I have come to realize,
things are never as they seem,

And we all need to learn,
to be present and to be,
okay with that,
as content is what I seek,

an until I am in total peace,
then I will write,
till the last word that I speak,

turning our truth-
into beautiful poetry.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Idk lol... I am who I am as Popeye would say... don't know if interesting or not? Love you guys hope you're all well this is my voice- I pretty much write it as it comes out. Muah! Xxx

I try not to get rooted down
but my love runs deep through these hills
where syrup trickles in the spring down maple bark.
The forest oozes with life
in the rebirth of spring;
where birds nestle in the dark nooks
of my roof and sing through the night;
where green eyes haunt
the graveyard of my bedroom.
I had to leave.

This nostalgia has a bite to it
like a song on the tip
of my tongue like a tobacco leaf I sing
Love me then leave me alone.
It’s not a turn-on.
I just need time for introspection,
self-taught love, oh how the self is caught
trapped in one place too long.

understand this is why we are strange to each other
becoming strangers to each other.
You know my favorite fruit
how I take my coffee.
Heart of a pomegranate, this girl
hard to break open.
I don’t fall apart for
gentile hands
need to milk and sugar me up
swirl my galaxies
turn me a lighter shade of myself.
Always feeling the same dull grey
of an overcast sky inside
my chest where a bird used to flutter
at the drop of your name.

All that’s left is an empty nest
sky blue eggs with nothing inside.

Ma Cherie Feb 12

A bubbling goodness,
and some simmering heat,
like the melting of heaven
that just can't be beat,
intoxicating wafts,
so sickeningly sweet,

In swirls of deep Cocoa,
and fresh Vermont cream,
my homemade hot chocolate,
is like sipping a dream,

A warm and delicious place to escape,
come in from the cold of the world,
in a ball on the couch,
where I sit and I sip,
with my cat where he is,
as he's curled,

He's up on my lap,
as I give him a pat,
on his thankful and sweet little head,
and I say that I'm thankful for all
and for our comfy warm little bed,
and I watch it snow - at last,

I listen to music that's alive in this place,
a friendly sweet smile comes to my face,

I say me a thank you,
to whoever will hear,
I hear comfort whispered again in my ear,
and I feel a beautiful moment of peace.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Escape... Ugh lol sorry I've been away with family stuff poets hope you are all well x - Vermont
Addison May Jan 22

Those wood covered walls, water damaged floors, torn up carpets
hold memories.
That candy wrapper, that's been there for three years,
The office where deep conversations where held early into the morning
The old birch tree which friends and family gathered around
The hill on which children sleigh, speeding down almost to the road

Smoke fills the air with the roaring fireplace,
day in, day out.
until the departure day
the smoke clears, the memories are pushed aside
Bustling, Hustling to rush out

Rushing too fast to enjoy the last moments,
moments you can never get back.

My family vacations every year at a home in Vermont. I've been going since I was born. My uncle recently decided to sell the place. My parents are also talking about selling the campsite on which ive grown up on every summer. So many memories are from these places. I know, things must change...but I hate change. Why do I have to grow up? I want to keep coming to Vermont, keep going to Faun Lake. The more I grow, the more I am forced to leave behind. I absolutely hate it.

The story Clinton Jarvis - my father.

Isle La Motte Roots

There's a place of quiet peace
In beautiful Vermont
It is filled with history
It beckons you, and haunts
In pacific Lake Champlain
It's called Isle La Motte

The lake is long and narrow
A lovely gem-like blue
The Island lies within its shores
It is a jewel, too.
Emerald in the summer
In fall a topaz hue

Old style houses charm us
With plain stone quarry frames
There are many maple trees
In fall these become flame
Churches with tall steeples
All barns look much the same.

From Blanchard's Point to The Head
North to south we go
Clark's & Reynolds to Fisk & Scott's
These east/west points we know
From The Lighthouse & Fort Stann
To the marble quarries low.

It seems the rock on Isle La Motte
Was formed from glacial ice
Which pressed the clay beneath it
As if it were a vice
The marble from the quarries
Is especially nice!

Samuel Fisk founded some of these
Marble blue, black, and grey
Many used the sturdy stones
Solid houses in the way
They can be found everywhere
And still stand to this day.

There was an ingenious sawmill
Powered by a boat!
A large and hearty steamer
By The Dock would float
The "Utica" by name
As sawmill founders wrote.

The taverns and inns
Had distinctive place
It would be so heartening
To see a merry face
There the weary travellers
Could find warmth and grace.

Famous for its apples
There are many orchards found
John Bowman & William Yale
Planted in the ground
My father was one who picked from them
Folks came from miles around.

The Fleury Store had merchandise
Sold to people from their stock
Carson's Store and Naylor's
Store to store the folks would walk
Often a place of meeting
Where people stood to talk.

Elizabeth Fisk. Creative.
She had looms, and linen wrought
This fabric so very fine
Much of it was bought
There were also boats and ferries
On an island... used a lot!

Nelson Fisk secured the Post Office
James Ritchie built in stone
His relation, Cynthia
Maintained the library alone
Succeeded by M. LaBombard
For faithfulness much known.

Both Methodist and Catholic
Worship the Divine
The faithful go to churches
No matter what the clime
A place of fame on Isle La Motte
Is lovely St Anne's Shrine.

The original schools on Isle La Motte
We're founded by strong men
Independent. Intelligent.
Created they back then.
Back in 1782 they had discerning ken.

The school my father went to
Only had one room.
He graduated the 8th grade
For his future groomed
But went to High School elsewhere
Back then quite a boon!

The Jarvis' were tennent farmers
Not much to be made
But the beauty of the place
Embraced them in its shade
T'was in this environment
Where young Clinton played.

Amongst the leaves - jade and fire
Honey'd amber caught
He found a love of nature
He was reared and taught
Here his story started

A place called Isle La Motte.

Catherine Jarvis

Finally completed! This segment in my father's biography took a while due to the
amount of research done. As you can see!

Sorry i haven't been around. This poem is
part of the reason why!

I'm going to present this to my now
hospitalised father this weekend. It will
be written out on posters in large writing
so he can read it... he's completely deaf and
going blind. It will bring back many fond
memories to him I'm sure! He certainly
deserves happiness about now!


Ma Cherie Jan 2

In fields of frozen crystal white,
in refractions of an inner light,
that stretch on for miles,
& miles & miles,
I hear a call in icy hills,
and birds with funny frozen smiles,

I see the clouds of white applaud,
as the colors take a little bow,
in pinks I've never seen before,
burning oranges on fire now,
I wish for you to see this place somehow,

It really takes your breath..
a w a y,
this place I love so dear,
I tell you in these words tonight,
to draw you really, really near,

For hours,
closely as I...

W h I s P E r

in your ear,

As we head off now & off we go,
into another year,
& again we go with what we know,
on without a single fear,

I say dear ones,
I say this too,
I say my dearest poet friends,

I say to this,
I say to you,
I say to all,
I say,


Cherie Nolan © 2016

Idk inspired? Thank you so much for the beautiful comments and inspiration
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